Pieces of Thought, Bits of Memory
by dark-hearted rose
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles, each one hundred words long. Mostly ALW 2004 movie based, with some Leroux pieces. Varying viewpoints, several different pairings. Dedicated to my Hero Sis, LostBluePhantom. [[Currently: 'Choices']]
1. Raoul: Freedom

**"Freedom"**

They stumbled from the building, throats choked with ash, clinging to each other, gasping for the cool night air that seared like molten tears on its way down.

The crowd pressed on all sides, jostling, a mass of nothing but nervous and frightened faces, an endless sea of bodies.

He paid them no heed.

"Christine," he gasped, still clinging to her, ignoring the protests of the aggravated wound on his upper arm. "Christine, are you all right?"

She looked at him, eyes shining bright with tears. "We're free," she whispered.

Freedom.

Never before had he ever tasted anything so sweet.


	2. Madame Giry: Longing

**"Longing"**

The lights dimmed, heads whipped around. The atmosphere of revelry evaporated immediately, leaving one of fear and apprehension.

He stepped forward, then again, boots clicking lightly on the marble as he descended the staircase, elegant, menacing, purposeful.

Seductive.

He spoke, delivering threats, but she didn't listen. Her vision was consumed by him, her thoughts running rampant and unbridled, this fiery apparition controlling every aspect of her black-shrouded figure, mind, body, and soul.

The passion didn't retreat even after the girl floated up to meet him, after he disappeared.

She ran off to rescue the boy, left to smolder in silence.


	3. Christine: Maestro

**"Maestro"**

Her heart was in pieces, her mind an absolute mess. Why had it all come to this?

Yet she shouldn't be so selfish. If she went through with this, who knew how many she would spare from the same fate?

That's what Raoul told her, what common sense dictated.

But something lurked just beneath her sensibilities, the same something, she guessed, that tugged at her soul at the very thought of the Phantom.

She loved Raoul, loved him from the bottom of her shattered heart.

But she knew, as she left the chapel, that she would always belong to _him_.


	4. The Phantom: Siren

**"Siren"**

There it was again.

For the past week, he'd heard a voice rising incessantly from his chapel, permeating throughout his domain, pulling him ever-closer like a siren's alluring call.

Wary, lest the call should indeed dash him sweetly against the rocks of utter destruction, he finally peered into the chamber from his many vantage points that littered the Opera Populaire.

_A girl…_

A small girl, not past seven, at the most. A small girl with a sweet voice, rare for one so young.

A small girl, one whose voice could be trained, molded into perfection.

…_The voice of an angel…_


	5. Erik: Untouchable

**"Untouchable"**

She was too good for him.

She rested her head against his thin shoulder, innocent, the picture of an angel, his. She was tired, he knew that, knew it was nothing more than a lapse of judgment, that in her exhaustion she had momentarily forgotten the death's head behind the black cloth, his hideous visage. He knew that the way she touched his arm, the way she nestled her soft face against the fabric of his dress shirt was nothing more than naïveté, of reluctant trust even.

He wrestled for control, fought the demons down.

How he hated being human.


	6. Madame Giry: Parting

**"Parting"**

"I'm sick of this, all of it!"

"You'd rather be still stuck in that cage, then?"

The two adolescents glared at each other, locked in a fierce contest of wills.

She lowered her head first, playing with the starched tulle of her practice skirt. "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. I just need to get out of these cellars…"

She looked at him, finding that she quite liked the way the corners of his mouth turned up like that.

"You'll come back?"

"Probably."

Silence.

"I suppose this is goodbye, then." An extended hand.

She ignored the hand, hugging him tightly instead.


	7. Christine: Choices

**"Choices"**

Christine was torn.

On the one hand: security. Raoul was wonderful, loving, the perfect friend, the perfect husband. She would want for absolutely nothing, could give up her career altogether and not have a care in the world ever again.

On the other hand: adventure. Passion. Mystery. Erik, though having multiple flaws, loved—_adored_—her like no one else. Her every action commanded his absolute devotion, and they would sing, sing until the stars blossomed and they would stand on the rooftop and watch the moonrise…

She sighed, her heart pained. The choice was clear, but how could she _choose_?


End file.
